“Why? Is he my servant, or ours? I am a soldier, he is a soldier; I am an officer, he is an officer. If he were some fellow of the infantry who commands his regiment with a reed, I shouldn’t have a word to say; but if he is the son of Tugai Bey, then no common blood flows in him. He is a prince, and that is the end of it; the hetman himself will provide naturalization for him. How should I thrust my nose above him, when I am in brotherhood with Kulak Murza, with Bakchy Aga and Sukyman? None of these would be ashamed to herd sheep for Tugai Bey.”
Eva felt a sudden wish to kiss her brother again; then she sat so near him that she began to stroke his bushy forelock with her shapely hand.
The entrance of Pan Michael interrupted this tenderness.
Pan Adam sprang up to greet the commanding officer, and began at once to explain that he had not paid his respects first of all to the commandant, because he had not come on service, but as a private person. Pan Michael embraced him cordially and said,—
“And who would blame you, dear comrade, if after so many years of absence you fell at your father’s knees first of all? It would be something different were it a question of service; but have you no commission from Pan Rushchyts?”
“Only obeisances. Pan Rushchyts went down to Yagorlik, for they informed him that there were multitudes of horse-tracks on the snow. My commandant received your letter and sent it to the horde to his relatives and brothers, instructing them to search and make inquiries there; but he will not write himself. ‘My hand is too heavy,’ he says, ‘and I have no experience in that art.’”
“He does not like writing, I know,” said Pan Michael. “The sabre with him is always the basis.” Here the mustaches of the little knight quivered, and he added, not without a certain boastfulness, “And still you were chasing Azba Bey two months for nothing.”
“But your grace gulped him as a pike does a whiting,” cried Pan Adam, with enthusiasm. “Well, God must have disturbed his mind, that when he had escaped from Pan Rushchyts, he came under your hand. He caught it!”
These words tickled the little knight agreeably, and wishing to return politeness for politeness, he turned to Pan Novoveski and said,—
“The Lord Jesus has not given me a son so far; but if ever He does, I should wish him to be like this cavalier.”